


How Are You Not Freezing You Psychopath

by Moony_07



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BAMF Peter Parker, Bars and Pubs, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson Fluff, Pining, Sleepovers, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 16:56:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20567735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moony_07/pseuds/Moony_07
Summary: (Hey guess what Peter is older because I am in no way comfortable writing the modern-day equivalent of Lolita thanks have fun)"There’s a guy standing a few feet away from me, leaning against the wall, clad in red and black leather. I mean, why not? Why not wear leather when it’s like fucking Antartica in goddamn Queens? Like, people can do what they want to, but Jesus. Fucking. Christ.Maybe his, uh, outfit is made out of genuine leather and he can’t actually feel the cold, but dang even through four thick layers I feel like a lonely, hollow penguin with trust issues. Talk about commitment. This guy really sets the bar."(On hiatus because I'm not consistent, my apologies.)





	1. If That Isn’t Genuine Leather Then How Is He Not a Popsicle

**Author's Note:**

> Wade has blue eyes because pppfffFFFFFFTTTT I dUnNo I'LL dO WhAt I WaNt NoBoDy's GoNnA ReAd ThiS AnyWay-

It’s fucking _ freezing _. 

I have my hands stuffed into the insulated pockets of my thick coat. It makes me look like that one kid from Willy Wonka who turned into a blueberry, but hey, _ hypothermia. _My hood is pulled up and tightly hugging my face, strands of stupid curly brown hair sticking through, giving the frigid wind a way to sneak into my fortress of warmth. Whenever that happens, I can feel the cold gently brushing my skin like the caress of a lover. It’s eerie. And I hate it.

The cars speed by in flashes of light, reflecting off of the puddles littering the streets and sidewalks. I’m slouching against a brick wall, waiting for my goddamn Uber to get a move on. Why does it have to be slow _ today _of all days? I just want to collapse into my beautiful, amazing, wonderful bed.

There’s a guy standing a few feet away from me, leaning against the wall, clad in red and black leather. I mean, _ why not? Why not wear leather when it’s like fucking Antartica in goddamn Queens? _ Like, people can do what they want to, but _ Jesus. Fucking. Christ. _

Maybe his, uh, _ outfit _is made out of genuine leather and he can’t actually feel the cold, but dang even through four thick layers I feel like a lonely, hollow penguin with trust issues. Talk about commitment. This guy really sets the bar.

He turns his head and we meet eyes. When I realize I’ve been staring at him for the last seven minutes, it’s already too late. Now I’m stuck looking into the white dots that I assume are hopefully his eyes.

“Kid, not to be mean or anything, but I don’t think you have a right to stare while you’re lookin’ like an Oompa Loompa over there,” he says with a hint of humor in his voice. It’s light and joking and thank _ fuck _he’s not going to gut me.

“Isn’t it cold? Wearing leather, I mean?” I point out, narrowing my eyes with the raise of my eyebrows.

“_That’s _what you’ve been staring for? Jesus Christ,” he mutters, then speaks louder, “This stuff didn’t come from Walmart, baby boy.”

My eyebrows only come closer to my hairline.

“Don’t give me that look.”

“I’ll do as I please.”

“A sassy one, are we? I like you.”

“Mmh,” I grunt.

As if on command, my Uber pulls up, honking. I step towards it and open the back door, but then quickly glance back over at the man in red and black, giving him a small wave goodbye. He nods, repeating the gesture.

The drive home is silent.

I text Tony to tell him that I’m safe as soon as I step the front door, toeing off my boots. Tony has been more protective of me ever since Aunt May passed, and it’s comforting, no matter how tedious it can get. He’s never been the type to show too much affection, so I appreciate everything he’s doing.

My feet drag me into my room, and I sluggishly drape my coats over the desk chair. I slip off my socks and fall face-first onto the cushiony heaven that is this _ goddamn perfect _bed. Sure, it’s kinda lonely and a bit creaky, but there’s a permanent dip in the mattress where I sleep every night, and that simple fact is surprisingly grounding.

I have work tomorrow, but the day after that I’m free, which means I get to drink as much as I want without having to worry about my hours being stunted. All it costs is a throbbing hangover. Absolutely wonderful.

***

My alarm blares like a freight train, tugging me out of the dream I was having. I swat blindly at the rickety bedside table, eventually managing to press the dismiss button. As soon as I pull the covers down, cold air blankets over me, making a shiver ripple over my skin. I tiptoe out of my room and into the kitchen, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around me as I pass the couch.

The entire hour I have to get ready is spent stumbling around my small apartment, making a half-assed breakfast and only brushing the front of my teeth groggily. When I glance in the mirror one last time, I look like I just waltzed through a fucking tornado. My hair is insane, curls all over the place, and exhaustion is written all over my face.

I float my way through work at the Bugle, half-tired half-buzzed on caffeine. Nobody pays me any attention since I’m actually somehow getting stuff done.

Then I’m standing in front of my usual bar. The most I can say about it is that one time some guy walked in with a hot pink teddy bear. That was a day to remember. We talked a bit, apparently his girlfriend left him and he needed a way to cope. Poor lad. I wonder if he’s doing alright.

MJ is usually on shift about this time, but apparently not today, because when I walk inside there’s a different woman behind the counter. Quietly, I take a seat and order a shot of tequila. Might as well start the night off right.

“Break up with your significant other or something?” the bartender asks, blonde hair sloping over her shoulders in golden waves.

“I’ll say that coming to this bar has been the best part of my week,” I mutter, downing another shot.

“Wow, that’s sad.”

“Believe me, I’m fully aware of that. My everything is sad.”

“I expect you’ll be here tomorrow for a hangover cure?”

“If I have enough money for it.”

She reaches a manicured hand over the counter and ruffles my hair, saying, “It’s on the house, honey.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. By the way, you look like one of those puppies from the depressing SPCA commercials.”

“Fucking wonderful.”

She snorts. “My name’s Hazel.”

“Peter.”

The front door jingles, signaling that somebody’s entered. Hazel puts on a smile, going back to work.

“What’s up, DP? Haven’t seen you in forever!” she exclaims, already starting to make a drink for the stranger.

“Been a bit busy with work,” a voice rumbles. Light but rough.

_ Wait a diddly darn motherfucking second, I recognize that voice. _

They take a seat next to me, sipping at a drink Hazel had already set out on his spot. He’s a usual, then? I peek over to my left.

There’s a fucking giant of a man sitting next to me. I can see his muscles through the red hoodie he’s wearing. And that mask is _ all too familiar. _It’s the guy I saw yesterday. He’s even more intimidating up close. Like, seriously, he could flick me on the forehead and I’d get severe brain damage.

Oh, _ fuck me. _

The guy snorts. 

I said that out loud. Well, shit. I guess it’s time to plan my own funeral.

He huffs out another laugh and actually turns his head, now pointing his attention _ right onto me. _

I said the other thing out loud. I’m such a massive idiot.

“Hi,” I squeak out.

“Hello,” he greets, “I know you?”

“You were standing by the same wall as me yesterday when I was waiting for an Uber.”

“Oh my God!” he gasps, “You’re the Oompa Loompa! Jesus, why would you hide such a cute butt under all those layers?!” 

“What-” I sputter, feeling like my face has suddenly been dunked in hot water.

“Holy fuck, I could snap you in half without even trying!”

My jaw drops, and I feel my heart sinking into the pit of my stomach.

“Not like I’d actually do that!” he says quickly, raising his hands to tell he means no harm. “You’re just so _ slim. _Like a girl.”

“I am not a girl.”

“No, I meant that you have feminine hips- wait that was the wrong thing to say wasn’t it-”

“So am I not a man now?”

“A _ man_,” he snorts, then corrects, “You’re a _ boy_.”

“What the fuck.”

“You’re small.”

“I am going to throttle you.”

He scoots back, chuckling, “Easy there, tiger! I don’t mean any harm.”

When silence replaces what used to be our weird-ass conversation, I realize I’m grinning. Then I let it fade, and instantly the man seems to notice.

“Your smile is nice,” he murmurs.

I let one pull at my lips, looking back over at him. “Thank you,” I chuckle.

“No problemo. Your name is?”

“Peter Parker.”

“That’s such a nerd name.”

I shove his shoulder, my laughs getting louder. “You prick!”

He grins, I can see it in the way his mask moves.

We talk about shit politicians, why Uber is only slow when you need it most, cute puppies wearing shark costumes, and so much more. This guy- I call him Wilson, it’s his last name, which is all he gave me to go by- never stops talking. Sometimes he’ll run out of air and his words will speed up into a breathy sputter. 

Hazel will listen in and give comments, but she mostly tends the bar, occasionally giving us a _ look _and shaking her head with a small smile. Plenty of people pass through as the night goes on, but we never talk to the others. We’re in our own little bubble world made up of terrible jokes and loud, howling laughs. My jaw aches from grinning so much.

Eventually, I realize I’ve gone a few shots over my limit and announce the fact that I have to get home to my amazing bed. Wilson says goodbye with a small smile and I hobble out of the bar. I think Hazel gives me a concerned look. Whatever. _ I’m on fucking cloud nine. _

I brought only a single decent coat to wear and tug it over my arms, snuggling into the comfortable fabric. My breaths come out as puffs of white air, and I pretend I’m a dragon for a minute. _ Heheh. Dragon. Hahahahhaaaaa. _

I can’t tell if I’m snickering in my head or out loud. Hell, who _cares? _ This is _Queens,_ there are drunks all over the place. Probably. Yeah, totally.

Wait, why is everything going black-


	2. Why Does the Eight-Year-Old Know How to Make a Hangover Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter meets Ellie. Ellie is a cutie pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I uploaded this early because I have no self-control and already finished the next two chapters (sort of, I have to do the second half of the fourth, but nevertheless it's going to be like a mega chapter or something).

I wake up with a thrumming headache and pressure weighing down behind my eyes.

I’m in a bed with white sheets and red covers, tons of pillows by the headboard and a few surrounding me. _ I’m never going to think about my bed’s comf factor the same way after sleeping in this piece of furniture that somehow harnesses heaven into a mattress and some sheets. _Morning light is pouring in through a nearby window. I think it’s a sliding door since there’s a balcony right outside.

_ This… Isn’t my apartment. My apartment isn’t this nice. _

I sit up in an instant, my headache taking two seconds to catch up to me and then slamming into my head like a hammer. I hiss through clenched teeth. _ That hangover cure Hazel promised me would be pretty handy right about now. _

A door creaks open, and I glance over to see a little girl with long brown hair like dark chocolate, a white dress with blue flowers popping against her caramel skin. Her eyes are like oak tree bark, boring into mine curiously.

Then, a grin comes to her face, and she practically screeches, “You’re awake!”

I groan, rubbing my eyes.

“Oops,” she murmurs, “Sorry.”

The girl hops onto the bed, crawling over to me and slapping her hand onto my forehead. I flinch but don’t protest. She’s only trying to help.

“Daddy told me to watch over you since he’s at work,” she explains, reaching over to a sturdy bedside table and handing me painkillers, along with a glass of ice water. Condensation has built upon the surface of the cup.

“Who now?” I ask out, my voice raspy as if I just inhaled gravel. I cough into the pit of my elbow.

“Daddy. He’s very tall and strong, he can lift me up like I’m made of feathers,” she explains, her hands resting in her lap.

“Is… Is this his bed?”

She nods.

… I’m sitting in Wilson’s bed.

Wow, okay. Can I steal his entire bedroom?

Did he _ carry _ me here? I don’t know the distance to this place from the pub, but did Wilson literally lug my shitfaced ass over to his house-apartment-whateverthisis in the middle of the night? Jesus _ Christ _, I think I owe him an apology.

“Do you want some breakfast?” she asks, giving me a smile.

“Sure…” I murmur, “What’s your name?”

“Ellie.”

Ellie grabs my hand and yanks me out of bed. I stumble out of the room behind her and down a hall. We descend a few stairs into a huge room, a kitchen parallel to the stairs and a living room on the other side.

There are cartoons playing on a flatscreen television across from the couch. My poor ass is walking on _ air. _

I let myself be tugged to a long island, Ellie sitting me down on one of the stools. I spot my coat hung up on a hanger by what looks like the mudroom. Hopefully, my phone and wallet are still intact.

Ellie sets a plate of golden toast, salted eggs, and only slightly burnt bacon in front of me. I am _ gaping _at the quality of the food.

As she takes a seat next to me with her own plate, I question, “Did you make all of this?” _ The girl has to be, like, eight years old. What the fuck. _

“Daddy helped with the bacon and eggs, but I made the toast. There’s already butter on it.”

I nod, scarfing down my foot like a ravenous dog. It’s delicious, the buttery flavors still sitting on my tongue. I should’ve savored it, but this is a free country and the quality of food is too good not to be practically inhaled.

“Do you have a babysitter?” I ask as soon as Ellie is done.

“Usually,” she murmurs, “But daddy doesn’t trust people easily and I don’t wanna make him sad again.”

_ Sad? How can you even figure out his emotions when he’s wearing a- _

“Does he wear his mask around you?” the question slips from me before I can think twice.

“Nope,” she pops the word, “That’s how I can see how he’s feeling. It’s all in his eyes. His eyes are pretty like yours.”

My heart melts. “I think your eyes are pretty too.”

“Really?” she meekly asks.

“Of course.”

“Thank you, uh…”

“Peter.”

“Peter!” she repeats, but happier. “Do you wanna come draw with me?”

“Well, I should…” my voice drones out into nothing when her expression slowly droops into sadness. I sigh inwardly. “Yeah. Alright. Let’s go draw.”

“Oh!” she exclaims, “I’ll also make you a hangover cure! _ Then _we can go draw!”

_ I find it weirdly endearing how this adorable, innocent kid knows how to make a hangover cure. _

***

I’m woken up when somebody prods my shoulder multiple times, making me snap back into reality. I’m sitting on the floor with my back against the side of Ellie’s bed. Ellie herself is fast asleep, bundled up in light blue covers. She’s snoring gently.

A dark figure that I’m pretty sure is Wilson kneels before me, his hand still hovering over my shoulder. In a few moments, my eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, and my suspicions are confirmed. _ Who else would be wearing a mask like that? _ Nobody in their right mind, that’s for sure. _ What could he possibly be hiding that needs to be covered up all the time? _ Ellie didn’t seem disturbed or disgusted when she talked about seeing his face.

“Ellie said your eyes were pretty,” is the first thing that leaves my mouth in a whisper.

He chuckles gently, and I can feel the sound vibrating through my clothes since he’s touching my shoulder.

Wow, that was kinda hot. Time to repress thinking about it for the next week.

Wilson taps my upper arm gently, getting to his feet. I stand wobbly, my legs feeling sore from being in such an uncomfortable position. Almost blind, I follow him out into the hallway. He closes Ellie’s door silently, sighing when it clicks to tell us it’s been shut all the way. The lights are bright out here. I have to readjust my eyes all over again, dammit. 

“I think I’m gonna walk home now,” I rasp out, rubbing my eyes.

“Do you even know where you are right now?” he asks, amused.

“I’ll consult Google Maps.”

“Ah, yes, the prophet itself: _ Google Maps. _ It’s also eleven in the evening. You can’t go two steps down the street before tripping and injuring your stupid cute face.”

“I’ll be fine, _ mom _.”

“Baby boy,” he coos, “Just sleep on my couch, I’ll even make it nice and comfy for you.”

“A tempting offer, but I’ve only known you for like two days.”

“Look, I’ll even sleep in my own bed all alone.”

“Are you suggesting that you were planning on cuddling me to sleep on your fancy couch?”

“Cuddling? Don’t get me excited for something you obviously aren’t gonna let me do. Also, fancy?”

“That thing is worth more than my life.”

“No such couch could be worth more than your life. And really, you should stay. It’s dangerous out there at night.”

I sigh. Even with the mask on I can tell he’s giving me puppy eyes.

_ “Fine.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I have no idea why but my chapter titles are as long as Fall Out Boy's song names. How weird.
> 
> Maybe I'll make random ones just a single word to fuck with you all.
> 
> Whoops, my secret's out.


	3. Both to Peter’s Concern and Relief, Tony Doesn’t Do a Double Take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gives his concerns, and Peter does what I can best describe as a continuous inward sigh, much like Tony does, but he does it outwardly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey it's 12 AM so technically today is Sunday

I run when I’m stressed. I run when I’m bored. I run when there’s too much on my mind.

I’ve never run a marathon or really even any kind of race, for that matter. Not since elementary school, where I was in track for a year and then dropped it because I needed to spend my time making money and not doing random activities after school. May insisted that she didn’t need help, that she could support us two herself, but I wouldn’t listen. I  _ knew  _ it would pretty much ruin my childhood. I  _ knew  _ I’d always be exhausted.

God, why am I so fucking exhausted? Can God give me a break for  _ two seconds _ ?

I feel like I’m running on air, my old, barely functioning earbuds in and blaring music. I’m wearing a ratty shirt and shorts because fitness means sweat which also means  _ don’t wear good fucking clothes. _

Wilson’s couch made me feel better than my own bed. That fact makes me both livid and extremely sad. Now I’ll never think of my bed in the same light.  _ Shit.  _

My phone buzzes in the front pocket of my shorts, and I slow down to a skidding stop, my chest heaving with every breath. I flop down onto the nearest bench, combing a hand through my sweaty hair.  _ Ew. Okay. Ewewewew.  _ I shake my hand out in front of me and see the little sweat droplets falling to the ground.  _ Wow, gross. _

Anyways, the text is from Tony.

**IronDad: Get over here.**

**IronDad: It’s important.**

Well, shit. No emojis, full punctuation? My ass is officially halfway in the grave.

I’m close to his weird tower anyways, though I’m a sweaty mess.

***

It takes me about ten minutes to get to Tony’s place, the building standing intimidatingly in front of me, reaching through the sky. I stride into the pristine main room, dead set on the elevator. The ride up to Tony’s floor is nerve-wracking. I don’t have any flashcards to prepare myself for the meeting that’s about to happen.  _ Did he send flashcards in the mail for this? Was I notified beforehand and just forgot? _

Tony is already facing the fucking door that I walk through when I make it into his lab. Expectantly, I raise my eyebrows. He pats the seat next to him.

This is how I die.

“What do you see when you look at this picture?” he asks in that calm, parent-like voice that screams  _ I am going to fucking kill you and then myself. _

Tony slides a photo over to me, and I’ve prepared myself slightly prior to answering any weird questions or tests to make sure I’m myself and not a clone or something, so I look down at the piece of paper quite calmly.

It’s a picture of me and Wilson, sitting together at the bar, Hazel smiling at us as she pours me a glass of apple juice-  _ wait when did she start to replace my drink with apple juice and how did I not realize it- _

“What the fuck, Hazel?” I whisper.

The expression on Tony’s face tells me that wasn’t the reaction he wanted.

_ This is how I die. _

He points to Wilson, questioning, “Who is this?”

“Wilson? I mean, his last name is Wilson. I have no idea what his first name is, he wouldn’t tell me. Maybe he’s one of those people that would rather be called by last name when you’re their acquaintance-”

My ramblings are interrupted by Tony’s prolonged sigh into his hands. His face is aimed at the ceiling.  _ He’s still sighing. I think that’s a new record. Also a new record of ‘how pissed off can you make Tony until it looks like he literally doesn’t care and has been destroyed by sheer stupidity’. _

His head drops down into a normal position, hands still covering his face.

_ _ ** _This is how I die._ **

“Do you know who he is?” Tony mutters, lowering his hands.

“Uh. A cool guy?”

Aaaand he’s back to sighing. Well shit, what do you want from me, Mr.Stark? A six-page essay?

God, I must be  _ really  _ tired if I’m actually sassing  _ Tony Stark  _ in my head.

“How did you even get that picture?” I wonder.

“That isn’t relevant. What I need you to know is that the man you were sitting with was the infamous  _ Deadpool. _ ”

“Wow, no way,” I fake surprise, “It’s not like Hazel literally called him ‘DP’ when he came into the bar!”

“Alright,” he says, “First of all, what’s wrong with you, Peter? Do you need sleep? And second of all, who’s Hazel?”

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, dragging my hands over my face. “Yeah, I just need rest. Hazel is the bartender.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look Pete, I’m not gonna force you to stop hanging out with a fucking mercenary,  _ but stop hanging out with the fucking mercenary. _ I can  _ feel  _ May cursing me from her grave.”

I snort and let a smile lazily come to my lips. This is Tony. He only wants what’s best for me, no matter how asshole-ish he sounds.

But I guess we want two different things. That’s okay, though.

“I’ll see ya later, Mr.Stark,” I say gently, giving him a small hug and making my way out of his lab.

“Bye, kid. Love ya,” he whispers, and I don’t think he knows I heard it.

I think I’m gonna try to actually get sleep tonight.


	4. One of the Times Peter Slept on the Couch and the Day That Changed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey kay jay I'm a sucker for this cliche-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a week or so after the last chapter, and in that time Wade choked on a chicken bone, Ellie assassinated her stuffed animal, and Peter got to know them a bit better. I might make all of that a bonus chapter or something.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

The first time I actually  _ meant  _ to stay over at his house, it all went fine. It went  _ better  _ than fine, actually.

I ate dinner with Ellie and Wilson, and apparently Fridays for them are Mexican nights. Ellie scarfed down her food like a wild dog, streaks of it all over her chin and around her mouth. It doesn’t take an idiot to realize how much like Wilson she is. The way she talks, the way she acts, they’re dead giveaways. Though, she’s a bit more polite. As I get to know Wilson more, I’m starting to realize that he’s a bit crazier than I originally thought. But that’s okay.

Everything is… Okay. Because of Ellie and Wilson and Hazel and Tony.

I mean, the evening was a bit weird with Wilson wearing his mask, but I’m in no place to judge. I don’t  _ want  _ to judge. I’ve seen them before. The scars. They scared me a bit at first, I’ll admit, but… They’re actually not that bad.

After Ellie got into her adorable unicorn onesie and practically  _ passed out  _ in her bed, Wilson and I moved to the couch to watch stupid movies. We just critiqued them freely for a while, pointing out bullshit and laughing over horrid acting.

I remember the faint smell of Mexican food and Wilson’s lavender laundry detergent- he lent me his hoodie, I get cold easily and it was comfy, so even when I ended up getting just a bit too warm I kept it on. Imagine  _ that _ . Wilson. The huge, brawny man that uses  _ lavender laundry detergent _ .

_ What an absolute sweetheart, I want to hug him till my arms ache and I don’t think I’d even regret it. _

“Hey,” he murmured halfway through a bad sci-fi film.

“Yeah?” I asked, still half-engrossed in the film and searching for plotholes.

“Wade.”

That caught me off guard. I turned my head to look at him. “Huh?”

“My name is Wade. You can call me that, Petey.”

_ Wade. _

_ _ “Wade…” I whispered. It just… It fit him. And I kinda really liked saying it.

There was a moment of silence, even with the television running in the background. A break in conversation where you  _ know  _ something should be but isn't there.

Then I proceeded to blurt out, "Wade Wilson. Sounds like a nerd name to me."

He started  _ wheezing  _ from laughing too hard, and somewhere along the way I also started to lose myself in the ecstasy that is contagious laughter.

I was curled up with my knees up to my chest, back against the armrest of the couch, my feet poking Wade’s left thigh because he sat closer to me even though there was a  _ ton  _ of space left over. And I liked it, how he stayed in near proximity. It made me feel warm and… I dunno, appreciated and stuff. It was like yellow flowers were blooming in my chest and soaking up the sun, sending the light of it into my face.

Shit, was I blushing? God, I’m an idiot, I’m never gonna be able to get that image outta my head. Peter Parker blushing at  _ close proximity _ . Such a  _ virgin _ , Jesus Christ.

By the way, I feel like I should mention that the hoodie was  _ way  _ too big for me. Wade’s shoulders are wider than mine, and he must’ve worn it before because the shoulders of it were a bit stretched out and sloped down my arms like waterfalls. This resulted in the sleeves easily surpassing my hands. And the hoodie overall was just…  _ Massive.  _ It went halfway down my thighs. What a feat.  _ And I’m about three inches above average height!  _ Jesus.

Once the movie ended, Wade turned his sight to me. The credits rolled in the background, soft yellow light coming from a lamp beside the couch and allowing me to actually  _ see  _ him.

He reached over and pinched my cheek, cooing, “You look like a baby deer swaddled in blankets. Do you know what a baby deer swaddled in blankets looks like? It’s absolutely adorable.”

“Are you indirectly saying I’m adorable?” I snickered, feeling that soft light coming back to my face. I was  _ definitely _ blushing.

“Yes,” he answered immediately, but then sputtered out, “I mean- no! I mean- maybe? Like, yeah, you’re goddamn  _ precious  _ but I can’t just say that to your face even though I just did wait let me start over-”

I snorted, accidentally cutting him off.

He looked anxious and tense before as if he’d  _ really  _ messed up, but then he pretty much  _ melted.  _ Shoulders easing, posture relaxing into a sort of hunched over position. 

And I remember really wanting to see his smile and the expressive eyes that Ellie told me about. It made my heart ache a bit. Because there’s still so much I don’t know.

The second time I meant to stay over at his house, everything shifted ever so slightly. A change pretty small, but still monumental.

Ellie was sleeping over at her best friend’s house, so we had the apartment to ourselves.

We talked all day over hot chocolate and Nick Cage movies. Some people find blabbermouths like Wade annoying, but I personally like to listen to his weird stories. Sometimes he’d talk about memorable jobs he did years ago, and in gory detail that I didn’t exactly appreciate but still sat through. He’s trying to get better now, which I applaud.

In the middle of the hangout, he blurted, “Can I get your phone number?”

And I just sorta froze like a deer in headlights. Because, well,  _ that was sudden.  _

“You don’t have to,” he added quickly.

We were laying on a blanket Wade had set on the ground, our half-empty hot chocolates put to the side.

“I promise I won’t send dick pics. I’m not  _ that  _ desperate, I don’t think. I mean, probably, but I ain’t gonna do that to you, Petey. You’d claw out your eyes, trust me. I wonder if just going naked would be a good way to distract the enemies. I’m already distracting while wearing a hoodie, gloves, and sweatpants. Swear to God, people have eyes like… Really visibly capable birds. Falcons, maybe? Falcons are cool. What were we talking about again?”

“You wanted my number,” I reminded him.

“Right. So, yeah, I don’t  _ need  _ it, but lemme tell you, I send some  _ funny shit.  _ Honest to God, cross my heart and hope to die, pinky promise.”

I’d let a lazy laugh out of my mouth, mostly consisting of breath. “That’s fine. I could use some random funny memes from time to time.”

Wade pumped his fist in the air, hissing out a small, "Yessssssssss."

I chuckled and passed him my phone with an empty contact screen already open. It took a minute or two, but eventually, he handed it back with a bad selfie of him in his mask and the contact name  **Wadey <3** . There was a smile spread over my face because  _ how can you not think that’s kinda hilarious. It’s like he’s actually my boyfriend or something.  _

Then, when movies got boring, we played Arctic Monkeys and Queen and Panic! At the Disco and  _ every kpop band imaginable _ . At some points, we danced, but other times we just sat and listened while playing videogames. Whenever Wade had the controller, I’d mouth the lyrics of the current song next to him, our shoulders and thighs touching. Something was surreal and nostalgic, especially when Party Rock Anthem came on for no discernible reason. Honestly, I got thrown back to my middle school days at that moment, engulfed in pure joy.

There was this buzz in my chest that kept me energized till one in the morning. Usually, when I stay up until that time, I’m dying in my skin, downing the last measly drops of my 5-hour-energy and fighting to keep my eyelids open. But then? At Wade’s? I just wanted  _ more.  _ I was hyper and ready to jump out the fucking  _ window  _ because even that would give me another high on top of the one I was already having.

Take notes, people. Happiness = hypnagogic, druggy hyperactivity. Very important information I’m tellin’ ya.

Well, then… I guess the night took a bit of a turn.

It was dark outside, I was laying on the couch swaddled in blankets, and then it happened.

A clap of thunder broke through the air and growled up above in an angry, electric hum. It struck again, and I flew up into a sitting position, gripping my blanket. White panic flew through my bloodstream, making me feel like I was falling and crashing into a building at the same time.

Thunder reminds me so much of something distant. Somebody distant. I can’t get it out of my head.

Blood roared in my ears like something screeching at me, telling me to just  _ survive.  _ Get out. Find a familiar place, a familiar person. Hide, run, escape, just  _ survive. Duck under the goddamn covers if you have to! _

Aaaand that’s what I did.

I ducked under the covers.

Pulling my knees to my chest, trying to calm my trembling hands, thinking of every existing breathing exercise all at once in my head.

It… Certainly didn't help too much that I was stressing myself out over  _ breathing exercises  _ but there were just  _ so many  _ and I had  _ so little time.  _

What was I waiting for? I don’t even know. There was no timer counting down to my demise. I just had to get myself together as soon as possible. 

Through the blanket, I saw the lights flicking on. I curled in tighter on myself, praying to any God above that would even accidentally catch my pleading thoughts. The thunder was grumbling and growling like a rabid dog outside, ready to strike again. It was waiting for the perfect moment.

“Petey?” I heard Wade calling out, “Just got a severe thunderstorm warning. It isn’t too safe in here, there’s a lot of windows, but we could chill out in my room, I guess. Isn’t too bad now, but we’ll let time tell.”

_ Isn’t too bad now?!  _ I remember sarcastically snapping in my head. But I wasn’t going to suddenly bark at Wade. I know how to hold my tongue, he didn’t deserve to be at the receiving end of my paranoid outbursts.

“Peter?” he murmured, noticeably  _ much  _ closer to the lump in the couch that was my tiny body.

Quick note, Wade moves like a fucking  _ ninja.  _

Anyways.

A gentle hand landed on my blanketed shoulder, and another took the edge, peeling it back to reveal my shriveled state. He had on a hoodie that hid his face, grey sweatpants, and fuzzy christmas socks. I was still in his sweatshirt and my old, comfortable jeans.

The thunder snapped down again and I flinched. In front of Wade.  _ Wonderful. _

“Hey, hey,” he cooed, squatting down to my level. “What’s happening, Petey?”

“Nothing,” I’d forced out, tugging at my hair to try and focus on something other than fear.

“Woah, wait,” his words flew out quickly as he reached out for my wrists, slowly leading them away from my head and cradling them in front of me. “Don’t take the thunder’s effects out on your beautiful hair, Pete.”

A small, crackly laugh had escaped my throat, but I could feel how crooked and wavering my smile was, almost like a shaky line.

“Do you mind if I pick you up?” he’d asked, and I could  _ see  _ his smile. It was nice.

“As long as you don’t break your back.”

He scoffed. “Rude. But I’ll let that one slide because you’re in peril.”

I shoved his shoulder as he looped his arms around me, chuckling, “Just a bit scared! I’m not some damsel in distress, you asshat!”

He’d let out a small snicker and then hauled me up into the air, then commenting, “Jesus, you should lay off on the zebra cakes, baby boy.”

“You prick!” I actually  _ giggled _ , covering my face with my hands. “Idiot jerkface prick!”

“Careful, I might just drop you,” he teased.

Then he  _ pretended  _ to drop me by suddenly jerking down his arms while making a “whoop!” sound, earning a screech and howling laughter on my part. Also swatting motions to his hooded head. They were gentle, though, I swear.

Wade carried me down the hall into a room beside Ellie’s, the one I woke up in a few days ago.  _ His  _ room, of course. 

When we got close enough, he threw me onto the bed, and I shrieked once again. Hopefully his neighbors didn't mind. I bounced a few times before finally settling, but then  _ Wade jumped onto the goddamn bed  _ and the entire thing started moving again. What a  _ riot.  _

He tucked me in like I was a little kid that had a nightmare. Cooing things along the lines of, "Pretty sure you're actually part baby deer." and "Your level of cuteness should be illegal."

I'm not really saying I was blushing or anything but  _ I was fucking blushing there's no hiding it. _

Suave, Parker. Smooth as sandpaper. Ya really had it in the bag for a few milliseconds.

The smell of lavender awakened hazy, warm memories of May in my mind. Smiling at me, baking brownies, folding laundry and humming to herself. I relaxed into the mattress with Wade already snoring beside me.

I wish I could introduce him to May. She'd like him, even though he's a bit insane. Since he has an adorable little kid that she'd most definitely accept as her grandchild because  _ Ellie is just that adorable _ . And Wade makes absolutely wonderful pancakes, even if the bacon on the side is still burnt a bit. Most of all… May would be happy for me. Because I've made a friend.

A friend that I really like. He can be amazing at anything even if he  _ undoubtedly  _ sucks at it. Amazing daughter. Amazing apartment.

_ Amazing cooking skills, a comforting smile, willing to let his short nerd friend of one week into his own bed. Stupid jokes, weirdly professional movie critiques even on short notice, and strong arms that are easy to fall asleep in. _

May, I think I'm ready.

It's taken a long time. Years.

And I'll honest to God probably get my heart roundhouse  _ kicked  _ again, but… 

I'm ready.

I think.

Yeah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And. There. Was. Only. One. Bed.
> 
> (lol)


	5. Wade’s Eyes Are Nice, Also Hazel Comes Over to Watch Barbie Movies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what the title says.

The bustle of people slowly comes into focus, mostly muted due to the walls separating me from absolute chaos. Sheets swish around under my body as I wriggle a bit to get more comfortable, warm and safe underneath the thick covers. Somebody is snoring softly beside me, and if that isn't enough to prove there's another human being in the bed, than the body that can substitute as a  _ furnace  _ is.

A fuzz of morning grogginess is blanketed over my brain and my eyelids feel crusty when I open them.

But there he is. Wade Wilson. With his hood up, but face out in the open since his room has been submerged in hazy golden light. And… Honestly, I can't say much.

I've always wanted it to be like this. Simple, anticlimactic. I've seen his hands, so why not his face? While we're on the subject of his face, I should mention that it's very unfairly pretty. Like,  _ what the fuck _ . He could be a Vogue model with that bone structure, hot  _ damn _ . 

Is stealing just a  _ small  _ touch okay? I mean, he won't  _ murder  _ me, right?  _ Right??? _

Curiosity killed the cat…

Buuuut satisfaction brought it back.

The court has come to a decision. No tag-backs. No regrets. Just an  _ itty bitty baby poke. _

My hand silently rises off of the bed and inches closer to his cheek. Fingertips graze over his textured skin. They're soft, since he must've been living with scars like this for a while. I let the rest of my fingers and soon enough my palm lay over his cheek, my thumb running over a cheekbone.

Well, this isn't exactly an  _ itty bitty baby poke  _ but who cares. Free country. It's not like I find his scars disgusting, anyways. Maybe that's how he feels, then it'd make sense why he never showed me his face before.

He looks so strong and intimidating on the outside, but I'm proud to officially say that Wade Wilson is a huge nerd and an even bigger sweetheart.

A hand- bigger than mine, and with scars rippling over it- slides over the back of my palm and gently curls its fingers around the side. I yank my sight away from his cheekbone and-

_ HoLY BLUE- _

Glittering blue eyes like the motherfucking  _ Pacific  _ are gazing right into mine with such an intensity that I can feel my stomach constricting around itself. My heart stops, then has a sudden rush of anxiousness and that weird crushing feeling like butterflies but if the butterflies drank six cans of Five Hour Energy and started to hum with electricity.

"Peter," Wade whispers, "C'mon, that's not fair."

"I know," I sputter out.

He chuckles, and I can feel the vibrations of it against my hand.

My face is as red and hot as Flaming Hot Cheetos, people. I am  _ distressed  _ with such a confusing array of fuzzy emotions. Like pure want. And suffocating excitement. And the color blue.

"Sooo," I laugh awkwardly, "Uhm, you aren't going to skin me alive?"

A smile pulls at his lips. "No.”

“Are you mad at me?”

He shakes his head. My hand is still up against his cheek as he mumbles, “Mad at myself for letting this happen.”

“Sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault, angel face.”

_ “Sorry.” _

He snorts. Then hauls himself up and to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs over the side. “Whadaya say about having breakfast here, Pete? I’m thinking pancakes?”

“Yeah… Yeah, that’d be nice.”

***

The car ride to Ellie's friend's house with Wade is as things usually go. He talks about the nice old lady a door down from him that once broke a middle-aged man's ankle because he tried to steal her purse. Go figure. That old lady is now his hero, no surprise there.

At one point he makes me laugh so hard that I choke on air. We had to pull the car over.

Didn't have to think of May. Or Harry. Or MJ.

It was just us, laughing and swapping stories like people that have known each other for years. It's weird, really, how I only feel safe in my skin around him and not _ oh, y'know, MYSELF. _

Wade has his hoodie up, shadowing most of the scarred skin he seems so keen on hiding. In only a few minutes of me sitting with Brendon Urie's singing humming in the background when Wade returns with Ellie's hand in his.

She's almost as talkative, if not  _ more  _ talkative than Wade. Which seems like a stretch, right? But I swear to God that girl can find interest in  _ anything _ .

We cruise back to his place, singing along to Beyoncé and MCR the entire way over.

***

When I get home there's a note on the counter taped to a new box of cheerios.

_ Stopped by, but you weren't here. Hope you're doing well. _

_ <3 Tony _

I open the fridge to find it almost completely restocked with food, and my heart expands in my chest.  _ Of course he wouldn't just get me cheerios. This is Tony Stark we're talking about, the only time that would happen is on April Fool's Day.  _

The note is tucked away in the journal I used to have to keep track of for therapy. Now it's half-filled and collecting dust on the corner of my desk.

My phone dings, and I quickly- rather excitedly, actually- check it before getting ready to shower.

It's from Harry. Just like that, my heart sinks.

I ignore it.

My bathroom mirror shows me a thin, tired brunette with circles under his eyes and unwashed hair. Cringing, trying to wipe the image from my mind, I throw my shirt off and stumble out of my jeans, turning the shower on. My phone sits on the nearby counter, right beside a toothpaste container. Just before I can step inside, it dings again, and I sigh inwardly.

**Wadey <3: bby i need your opinion on something**

**You: Wade, I gotta shower.**

**Wadey <3: ooo can i see**

I feel my face flushing.  _ God, get a grip, Parker! He’s kidding. Definitely a stupid joke. _

**You: Mmmmno.**

**You: What do you want?**

**Wadey <3: feisty**

**Wadey <3: don’t worry petey i like you that way**

**Wadey <3: though if you reconsiderrr**

**You: Wade.**

**Wadey <3: okay okaj**

**Wadey <3: night owl cookies or insomnia cookies**

**You: Insomnia Cookies.**

**Wadey <3: thanks sweetie you’re the best**

**You: Damn straight.**

**Wadey <3: damn gay**

**Wadey <3: ya don’t have socks on**

**You: Wait how do you know tha-**

**You: OH. Right.**

**You: Gonna shower, catcha later.**

**Wadey <3: baiiiiiiiiiiii **

I huff a small laugh out of my nose, and it’s drowned out by the sound of the shower running. Not wanting to spare a second of hot water, I step inside. It’s lukewarm at the highest point. And I know from experience that it is  _ beyond  _ freezing at the lowest.

***

Two days later, I’d gotten five texts from Harry and none from Wade.

I mean, it’s not like I care.  _ Okay that sounded douchey.  _ But something has to be wrong. Wade usually texts about a million times over the span of  _ two hours.  _ Nothing in a few days? He’s probably dead. But what’s worse is Harry’s texts.

He’s going to force himself back into my life. He’ll look fine for a while, but then finally snap back into old habits. Yelling. Throwing. Anything to gain the upper hand. Like a toddler having a tantrum, but the toddler is taller than you, much stronger than you, and has almost suffocated you before.

He knows where I  _ live. _

But I don’t have enough money to move, and Wade isn’t texting me, though it isn’t his fault and he shouldn’t feel guilty for it. I’m just  _ so scared _ . Like that night where it thundered too hard and reminded me of everything Harry had done and… Fuck, Wade was the drug everybody told me to avoid but I fucking fell into his embrace like it was the only thing that mattered.

The doorbell rings, my heart does a flip and lands in my stomach.

I quietly get to my feet, avoiding creaky spots in the floor, and looking through the peephole.

On the other side there is a woman with blonde hair and deep, murky brown eyes. A jacket,  _ Welcome To Nightvale _ shirt, and jeans hiding a lot of her sun-kissed skin. Thank  _ fuck _ , it’s Hazel.

Opening the door, I glance down to see a box of Insomnia Cookies in her hands. My heart melts in my chest.  _ Wade. _

“What’s up, Pete? Can I come inside?” she asks brightly, flashing a smile of perfectly white teeth.  _ I envy her. _

“Yeah. Yeah, you can come in,” I say quickly, stepping to the side to let her enter.

She peers around. “Wow, your apartment is even sadder than I imagined.”

“Uh, how’d you find my address?”

“Fancy coder stuff, you wouldn’t understand in the slightest.”

“And I believe you. Willing to share the Insomnia Cookies?”

“Hell yeah. Courtesy of Wade Wilson, since I’m just as broke as you are and would’ve walked down to the dollar store to buy cookies there if not for ya boyfriend.”

“Wade isn’t my boyfriend.”

“Say that enough and maybe I’ll start to believe you.”

Hazel flops down onto the couch, setting the box of heavenly cookies onto my coffee table. I walk up to the kitchen to get water, and she figures out how to turn on the television, switching it to Netflix.

“What’re we gonna watch?” I ask, bringing both of our cups down into the living room.

“Barbie movies,” she responds instantly, “Fuck toxic masculinity, I’m going to catch you up on every single one.”

“This seems like a little bit of a  _ Wade  _ thing to do.”

“He’ll join us next time, he had to go into work for something today and asked me to deliver the cookies, so why not get a head start, right?”

“Right.”

Hazel gives me a high-five. “I think you’re my favourite boy.”

“Wonderful. If not, I’d have to kill somebody.”

She snorts, taking a sip of her water.

I relax back into the couch and hand Hazel a blanket, then grabbing another one and wrapping myself in it like I’m a human burrito.


End file.
